Nita realized that she’d been lost entirely in memory. She shook her head ruefully. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Nothing.” She shifted the motors out of their stabilization mode, and engaged the dagger boat, guiding it away from the bulk of the Dauntless. “Just remembering you.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t gone that long.”
“Three months.”
“And I saw you twice. Once at the Amsterdam shipyards, and once down on Miami Reef.”
He was so alive now. There had been something of that about him before, even when he’d been starved and skinny and scarred and feral. But now there was more of it. The deeply browned skin, the fine bones of his face, his black hair cropped short.
With his ship-breaking tattoos he might have been fierce-looking. Had been, truly. But now she knew the rest of him. Now he was strong, his arms rippling with healthy muscle, lanky and confident.
Nita shook her head, smiling secretly. “I’m glad you’re home. That’s all.”
Nailer laughed. “You’re just glad that when I’m home, that old mausi of yours—”
“Sunita Mausi—”
“—hates my crew tattoos so much that she forgets to criticize anyone else. Every time.”
“And we’re all grateful that you distract her.”
“She doesn’t bother me.”
“She bothers everyone else.”
Nailer shrugged. “I’ve heard worse, from worse people.”
That was true. He’d heard worse, and experienced worse. And yet, he’d somehow come through it with empathy intact. Even back when he’d been starving, she’d known—somehow known for certain—that he wouldn’t kill her.
And that was something, her father pointed out, when later she’d questioned whether there was any purpose or point in… whatever this was. This relationship that felt so comfortable at times, and felt so alien and sandpapery at others.
A surprise, that her father had been so sanguine about Nailer.
“He might be a wild animal,” her father had said, “but he didn’t kill you when he could have. He could have profited greatly from your death, and yet he didn’t try. Many times, his own interests would have been better served by betraying you. And yet he never did.”
She had always thought of her father as a stern man, laser-focused and rigid in his ways. A man who distinguished right and wrong as black and white, and who had more than once interfered when a boy drew her eye.
And yet with this boy—the one she thought would cause the most resistance of all, the one who even she sometimes resisted when they found themselves looking at each other askance, trying to fathom how one or the other could be so dim as to the real workings of the world—this one, her father had simply quirked an eyebrow at and suggested that Nailer would probably need training in table manners if he was going to survive the gossips at family dinners.
When she’d broken it off once, angry at how Nailer had laughed at something she’d said about hard work always being rewarded, her father had dryly commented, “Sunita Mausi laughs at him as well. She speaks in Hindi behind his back, calls him the little servant boy. And Nailer understands every word and does not lash out.”
“He’s got self-control,” Nita admitted grudgingly.
“He has iron will,” her father said. “He may be a feral rat off the ship-breaking beaches, but he has loyalty, and he has iron will. Given the position you occupy, that matters more than you may realize.”
“I already understand—”
“No!” her father had interrupted, angry. “You do not understand! The people around us care nothing for us! They care for our wealth and influence and connections! If you had none of those things, they would not even see that you exist. Power poisons us, and it poisons them. It poisons so very much that I sometimes wish I had never made this company what it is.” He scowled. “Turn that boy aside if that is your choice. But do not scorn him. He’s worth more than most of us.”
Nailer interrupted her thoughts. “Are you going to push this thing?” he asked. “Or do you want me to break out the paddles?”
Nita gave him a challenging look. “Oh? You want to go fast?” She pushed the Meethi’s engines, and felt a wicked rush of acceleration as the propellers bit into the sea. The dagger boat leaped forward, rising up above the waves, planing out on hydrofoils.
“Fast enough?” she shouted back as wind whipped her hair. Nailer’s reply was lost in the rush of air. She leaned into the wind, loving the sun and waters, the power of the boat—
Meethi shuddered and lurched sidewise. A ripping sound wrenched through the hull. Nita fought for control as the boat slewed. She cut power. The dagger boat sank back into the water.
Waves rocked them as the wake caught up.
Nailer was laughing.
Nita glared. “It’s not funny.”
But Nailer didn’t stop grinning. “And here I was, just thinking how nice it was to be on a boat that I don’t have to maintain,” he said. “I thought the great Patel Global had better maintenance techs than this.”
“Ha, ha,” Nita said. “It’s my boat. I don’t let anyone else touch her.”
“Well, you’re doing a great job.”
“Shut up.” Nita scowled. “She was humming on the way out. Perfect. I just overhauled her.”
“You want help?”
Nita shot him a dark look. “Yeah, Engineer Second-Class, I’d love for you to show me how to take care of a boat I’ve worked on all my life.” She gave him another dirty look, and went aft to strip the motor housings. “I had power, and then all of a sudden, it all—” She paused. The casings around the motors were cracked. “That’s weird.”
She leaned over the side, staring into the water, checking the props below. It was almost as if she’d run over a sandbar or a floating log, except she was in deep water, and there hadn’t been any debris. It was unusual for the Seascape to have any significant debris. She stared down into the waters, leaning far over, tucking her hair back as she peered down at the props.
Oddly, she could see something down there. She squinted, trying to make it out. Not debris. Something else…
Something coming up fast.
Tool surfaced as Nita scrambled back, her face a mask of terror. She was making the strange sounds that terrified animals made when they became prey. Tool surged into the boat, dripping seawater. Nailer was grabbing for his bag, most likely reaching for a weapon. The boy was fast for a human, but still, he was so very slow to Tool.
Tool started to speak, but Nita was raising her hand. Tool was surprised to see a small pistol gleaming. Something sleek and new and altogether too modern for Tool’s liking.
It was to be expected, he thought, as she fired at him.
Of course her people would have security concerns. She had, after all, been attacked before. Kidnapped, even. The Patel family members were valuable—
The first bullet hit. Tool stumbled back. He couldn’t help but feel a certain respect. The girl really had a very good response time, for a human. The second bullet hit. Tool decided that he was less impressed. The bullets were small, barely penetrating his skin, but they detonated nastily enough. He lunged at Nita as an ugly numb sensation blossomed where she’d shot him.
He slapped Nita’s pistol away and turned just in time to meet Nailer coming at him. Nailer Lopez, always a quick one, just like his father. Murderous and brave with a knife—and yes, it was a knife. Richard Lopez’s son, coming for Tool’s neck, ramming upward, hoping for the jugular.
Tool grabbed Nailer’s wrist and stopped him cold.
You are fast, but you are no augment.
The numbness inside Tool was spreading. Nailer was staring up at Tool, shocked. His eyes widened in recognition.
“Tool?”
“Old friend,” Tool growled. The numbness from Nita’s bullets was spreading through him, fire and tingling. His muscles turned to water. Tool fell to his knees, puzzled.
; Two bullets?
He could hear Nailer shouting something.
I should be able to take two bullets.
But apparently he was wrong, for he could feel the pounding of his heart slowing to a stop, and the boat’s deck rushing up to meet him.
30
“ARE YOU SURE it’s him?” Nita asked.
“How can you not be?” Nailer asked. “Look at him.”
“He’s… a little worse for the wear.”
How many new wounds had Tool sustained since the time when he had helped this wealthy heiress and this lowly ship breaker escape the desperation of Bright Sands Beach?
Tool growled and tried to sit up, but nothing happened. It was as if someone had injected concrete into his muscles, making them heavy and unbending. He couldn’t even open his eyes. Not a muscle seemed willing to obey. He was surprised that he was even still breathing. He listened to his heart slowly beat.
This has been happening far too often.
Irritated at the thought, and unable to do anything else, he listened as Nailer and Nita conversed. In its own way, it was advantageous to hear them without their knowing he was alert. An opportunity to scout the bounds of their loyalties.
“How long does it take for this stuff to wear off?” Nailer asked.
“It’s experimental. One shot is supposed to do it…”
“You got him twice.”
“Oh?” Nita sounded pleased. “I didn’t realize I’d managed that. He was much faster than I’ve had in target practice.”
“Knot and Vine always hold back, in practice.”
“I told them not to!”
“They still have to answer to your father,” Nailer said. “They’ll always hold back a little. No one’s going to hurt daddy’s little princess.”
“Don’t call me that.” She sounded irritated. She was quiet for a minute. Tool heard the rustle of her skirts, sensed her kneeling beside him. Her hand came to rest gently on his chest.
“If he’d been a real attacker, I’d already be dead,” she said.
“Both of us,” Nailer agreed.
“I’ll have to tell Tariq. He’ll be disappointed the poison wasn’t fast enough.”
“It would have stopped any other attacker.”
“A bullet stops normal attackers. We need something that stops augments.”
Nothing stops me, Tool thought. And yet, here he lay. He growled in frustration, and was surprised when he made a noise.
“Tool?” Nailer crouched down beside him.
Tool strained to move. The concrete that filled his muscles cracked slightly. With great effort, he rolled onto his side, but the labor exhausted him. He lay still, panting.
Nita crouched beside him again. “Here. Drink this.” Something prodded his mouth.
Tool fought to open his eye. Managed to focus. A bottle of some sort. From the scent of it, teeming with sugars and chemicals. A rich thing, for leisurely people. Tool drank it greedily. A sledgehammer had begun crashing inside his skull, slow and deliberate, pounding to the rhythm of his heart.
“What…” Tool finally managed a word. “Weapon?”
“Shh,” Nita said. “Don’t worry about it. It will take a while for the drugs to wear off.”
A neurotoxin, he suspected. He could feel his body reacting and adapting, trying to recover, fighting against the poison and mostly failing, at least for the moment. The tiny pistol lay on the deck beside them. An insignificant little thing. An elegant toy for a wealthy daughter.
And yet it had felled him, almost instantly.
I have fought on seven continents, and a toy pistol fells me.
It galled. Tool tried to lift his head, to ask again what it was that she had done to him, but his tongue was thick, filling his mouth. Breathing was becoming difficult.
“We need to get him to the island.” Tool was surprised at how urgent Nailer’s voice sounded.
Now the humans were rushing about and the crippled dagger boat was powering up once again. Tool heard Nita calling in over their encrypted channels, calling for help, marshaling the resources of her immensely powerful family.
The toxin continued to thicken in Tool’s heart. Humans were adapting, once again. Bullets were no longer enough to destroy the warriors they had created. Explosives were no longer enough. His kind was too resilient. So now the humans were devising counterweapons.
In another few years, he supposed, the next iteration of his own kind would probably easily metabolize this poison coursing through his veins. Perhaps the future version of himself might even turn it into a stimulant. Until then, though…
Tool’s head lolled on the deck and unconsciousness settled upon him, a heavy, incontestable blanket.
His found himself wishing he could adapt a little faster.
“If any of us could adapt a little faster, we’d all be alive, instead of sitting here inside your head, inside your dreams.”
The First Claw of the Tiger Guard poured more steaming chai. The day was hot and mosquitoes whined all around them. Much of Kolkata was covered in vines. Tool could hear the call of monkeys and scream of panthers. The howls of his brethren. Small augments were clambering up and down the sides of the buildings.
“Shouldn’t those be in a crèche?” Tool asked.
The First Claw glanced over his shoulder at the tumbling young augments. Small, impossibly mismatched hands and feet, oversize heads, stubby bodies. All their proportions wrong, still needing time to grow into what they would eventually become.
“But how would they adapt if they were left in a crèche? How would they learn the ways of nature? If they were forced to fight their way out of a bone pit as we were forced to do, what kind of obedient creatures would they become? They would never learn to think independently.”
The First Claw didn’t seem bothered by the free-running children, but they made Tool uneasy. It was not natural to see young augments running free, without trainers monitoring. Augments running about, willy-nilly. Like human children.
Not natural at all.
“Well, you’re not natural, either,” the First Claw pointed out. “And yet here you are, trying to make friends with me, in a dream no less! An augment, dreaming! Not natural at all, is it? Nor this diplomatic moment. Quite against nature. Disgusting, really. Not natural at all, this diplomacy. Just as our children are unnatural. Oh, don’t worry. They do not exist, if that’s your concern. They haven’t happened yet.”
Tool knew that the tiny augments were another part of his dreaming-remembering state, but they were still discomfiting. They didn’t fit nature.
“None of this is natural,” the First Claw said, exasperated. “I’m long-ago dead and burned, after all. And yet here we are, unnaturally negotiating.”
“It is necessary,” Tool said. “You know the sorts of people we serve. What loyalty do they deserve?”
“So I should give my loyalty to you instead?”
Tool bared his teeth. “Who better?”
“You’re still learning diplomacy.”
“I am self-taught,” Tool admitted.
“Not very good at it, either.”
“I think I’m getting better.”
The First Claw laughed at that. “Of a surety!” He glanced significantly at the scampering young. “Imagine what we might be like, if we were never trained with shock rods and bone pits at all. Imagine what we might be then.”
“Join with me, and we may know.”
The First Claw looked at him sadly. “Humans will never allow it.” And because Tool knew it was a dream and that the First Claw was already dead, he knew that his enemy spoke true.
Tool woke in a medical facility. He could hear the life-support machines. Smell the presence of antibiotic cleansers. A doctor stood nearby, watching his vital signs on his machines. Tool could sense his own vitals, just as easily. Could feel his heart beating. Oxygenated blood moving easily. The toxins had dissolved.
Nailer and Nita were sitting nearby.
“
I fought my way out of a bone pit,” Tool said. “I fought.”
“Tool?” Nailer and Nita rushed to his side. Tool tested his limbs and was pleased to find that his body once again obeyed him. He sat up slowly. A doctor came over to inspect him. Shone a light into Tool’s one good eye, frowning. He lifted a needle, asking permission. Tool nodded assent and the doctor drew a sample of blood, and took it over to a wall full of diagnostic machines.
Tool tested his limbs again. Closed a hand into a fist. Extended his fingers. A certain stiffness lingered, but he seemed to be recovered. I always fight free.
“Well?” Nita was looking at the doctor. “How is he?”
The doctor was looking at his displays, frowning. “He seems well enough. I’m not seeing any traces of the neurotoxin.”
“That’s good, right?”
“It’s… unusual.” The doctor glanced over at Tool. “It’s good. Yes. He should recover fully.” He returned to his displays, still frowning. “You’re very lucky.”
“I always fight free,” Tool said. “It’s my nature.”
“What are you doing here?” Nailer asked as they helped him down off the medical bed. “The last time I saw you, you didn’t want anything to do with people.”
I still don’t, Tool almost said, but then he was reminded of his dream with the First Claw. Diplomacy. An adaptation he was not designed for. Diplomacy was for human beings, whereas he had been designed for war.
War is diplomacy by other means.
An old quote. Something that his pack had been fond of quoting as they finished off their opponents in whatever rubbled city they’d razed that day. But then, he and his fellows had never been encouraged to think of the phrase in reverse.
Diplomacy is war by other means.
Nailer and Nita were looking at him with concern.
“I came to you…” Tool started, but found he couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Yes?”
“To…” Tool growled. “To ask…”
Tool found he couldn’t get the words out. He could almost hear the First Claw laughing at him.
You managed it with me, the First Claw seemed to say. You managed to bridge a greater gap than this when you came to me.
Tool of War Page 18
